Dec. 1st, 2011 01:54 pmAdvent story #1: For
Advent story #1: For ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
irony_rocks
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savvyliterateNote, I'll be hosting these on my actual LJ instead of my writing journal.
Title: A moth drawn to flame
Written for:irony_rocks
Fandom/Characters: Doctor Who, Tenth Doctor, River Song - "possibilities"
Rating: K
Word Count: 584
Spoilers: Set during the farewell scenes of "The End of Time, part 2"
The Doctor hadn’t planned to visit River Song as he tried to prolong his regeneration. While her death weighed on his mind, seeing her again was something that made him vaguely uncomfortable at best. She was both hope and fear combined into a compact body with, he had to admit, amazing hair. She was hope that he would move on, finally shed the mantle of grief that losing Rose had dropped over him, and grow close to someone else in that way. She was also fear of the exact same thing.
But when he left Jack at that bar with Alonso, he turned and caught a glimpse of curls, a husky laugh and a man sitting across from her with floppy hair, bowtie and a tweed jacket and had to know. He wondered if it was her, but didn’t want to ask. The woman appeared to be absorbed that other man anyhow. A bowtie, really? The Doctor wrinkled his nose and strode back into the TARDIS.
The old girl was reluctant to provide any information on Professor River Song. His inquiries ran into block after block, and at one point, the word SPOILERS flashed across the monitor as he shoved away in frustration.
He finally tracked her to Luna University, where she was a tenured professor in archaeology, shortly before her trip to the Library. It was the only place the TARDIS allowed him to go. He made his way to a large lecture hall and watched as she spoke about the upcoming trip, excitement evident in her voice and the gesticulation of her hands that seemed familiar and comforting at the same time. She spoke of history the way he did, with a true love and understanding that most humans never seemed to grasp.
She was very different outside the spacesuit, he realized. Her curls were blonde and tumbled to her shoulders. She was quite curvy in all the right places, and he swore he saw the shape of a gun strapped to her thigh, her skirts fluttering around it as she paced before the class. She was still quite young for a human, early-to-mid 40s at the most. But something about her eyes made her seem so very old.
She’s happy, the Doctor thought, and that made the guilt over River’s sacrifice ease a bit. She was happy, vibrant and alive, and something about that drew him to her. Moth to a flame of sorts. He started forward as the class ended, then froze. No, she hadn’t met him yet. He’d mucked up time enough, thank you very much. He couldn’t … wouldn’t change that for her. Or for himself.
For the first time, the dread of regeneration eased. If River was his future, then it didn’t seem so bad. He saw all the possibilities in his mind, spinning out before him in an endless spiderweb of timelines and opportunities. He swore he could feel her lips on his, and it made him feel eager in a way he hadn’t felt in a very long time. The Doctor found his first geninue smile since taking the radiation for Wilf and directed it at the professor who was busy talking to someone who had slipped in and up to the lecturn. Same guy from the bar he noted, with the tweed and bowtie. He really hoped his next incarnation had a better fashion sense than that.
“I’ll see you soon, River,” the Doctor murmured, then with a swish of his coat, walked out to face destiny.
Title: A moth drawn to flame
Written for:
irony_rocksFandom/Characters: Doctor Who, Tenth Doctor, River Song - "possibilities"
Rating: K
Word Count: 584
Spoilers: Set during the farewell scenes of "The End of Time, part 2"
The Doctor hadn’t planned to visit River Song as he tried to prolong his regeneration. While her death weighed on his mind, seeing her again was something that made him vaguely uncomfortable at best. She was both hope and fear combined into a compact body with, he had to admit, amazing hair. She was hope that he would move on, finally shed the mantle of grief that losing Rose had dropped over him, and grow close to someone else in that way. She was also fear of the exact same thing.
But when he left Jack at that bar with Alonso, he turned and caught a glimpse of curls, a husky laugh and a man sitting across from her with floppy hair, bowtie and a tweed jacket and had to know. He wondered if it was her, but didn’t want to ask. The woman appeared to be absorbed that other man anyhow. A bowtie, really? The Doctor wrinkled his nose and strode back into the TARDIS.
The old girl was reluctant to provide any information on Professor River Song. His inquiries ran into block after block, and at one point, the word SPOILERS flashed across the monitor as he shoved away in frustration.
He finally tracked her to Luna University, where she was a tenured professor in archaeology, shortly before her trip to the Library. It was the only place the TARDIS allowed him to go. He made his way to a large lecture hall and watched as she spoke about the upcoming trip, excitement evident in her voice and the gesticulation of her hands that seemed familiar and comforting at the same time. She spoke of history the way he did, with a true love and understanding that most humans never seemed to grasp.
She was very different outside the spacesuit, he realized. Her curls were blonde and tumbled to her shoulders. She was quite curvy in all the right places, and he swore he saw the shape of a gun strapped to her thigh, her skirts fluttering around it as she paced before the class. She was still quite young for a human, early-to-mid 40s at the most. But something about her eyes made her seem so very old.
She’s happy, the Doctor thought, and that made the guilt over River’s sacrifice ease a bit. She was happy, vibrant and alive, and something about that drew him to her. Moth to a flame of sorts. He started forward as the class ended, then froze. No, she hadn’t met him yet. He’d mucked up time enough, thank you very much. He couldn’t … wouldn’t change that for her. Or for himself.
For the first time, the dread of regeneration eased. If River was his future, then it didn’t seem so bad. He saw all the possibilities in his mind, spinning out before him in an endless spiderweb of timelines and opportunities. He swore he could feel her lips on his, and it made him feel eager in a way he hadn’t felt in a very long time. The Doctor found his first geninue smile since taking the radiation for Wilf and directed it at the professor who was busy talking to someone who had slipped in and up to the lecturn. Same guy from the bar he noted, with the tweed and bowtie. He really hoped his next incarnation had a better fashion sense than that.
“I’ll see you soon, River,” the Doctor murmured, then with a swish of his coat, walked out to face destiny.